I don’t know
where it came from – Depression-era frugality or a strange organizational
compulsion – but my mother had the oddest habit of taking a certain amount of a
condiment – mayo, relish, mustard, horseradish – out of its original container and
placing it in a smaller jar which would fit on the shelves of the refrigerator
door. The larger vessel was then placed in the back of the lowest shelf,
waiting to refill its little friend. Mom would write in blue marker the name of
the condiment on the side of the smaller jar in order to avoid confusion over
the contents. This system worked pretty well as long as one made sure to read
the side of the jar. The mayo jar was the most frequently used, but there
were times when it was washed and never refilled and replaced, which accounted
for a mistake or two.
As I’ve
written previously, my mother was not the most avid home cook. My father
was even less so, but he surprised us once.
When I was in elementary school, I remember my mother going away for a
long weekend to visit her sister. Dad was in charge of dinner for one of the
nights she was to be gone – our housekeeper Elsie made up the difference with
several basic 1960's favorites which have faded from my memory. But Spaghetti
Casserole, a vestige from his bachelor days, was Dad’s contribution to our
weekend sustenance and my siblings and I devoured the concoction of ground beef
cooked with onions, mixed with several cans of Franco-American Spaghetti and
then baked with grated cheddar cheese on top. It was a special dinner for us, probably because it was the first one Dad had ever
prepared. When Mom, upon her return and with our pleas, replicated Dad’s
recipe exactly, we turned our noses up. I think the recipe came from the can of
Franco-American Spaghetti, so Mom couldn’t have gotten it too wrong;
nonetheless, it just wasn’t Dad’s.
Other then
tossing a tri-tip on the grill, the only thing I remember my father ever preparing, beside Spaghetti Casserole, was an occasional peanut butter, lettuce and
mayonnaise sandwich. If he knew that Elvis added bananas and then fried the thing, he would have been mightily offended. Frying compromised the ingredients and it made for so much more work. Though he would offer to make his favorite sandwich for us, I don’t think my siblings nor I ever
accepted, and Mom would have nothing to do with Dad’s bizarre specialty after he had beaten her in the Spaghetti Casserole Bowl.
Fast forward
to the late 1970’s and I am home for the summer from college. Whether it was mandated
that I do so, or I volunteered, I cleaned the kitchen late one Saturday morning.
I took great pride in getting it spic and span and I even reorganized some of
the cupboards (yes, I probably alphabetized the spices and dried herbs, what
few there were!). I’d just finished my labor of love when Dad came in from the
family room. He pulled a loaf of Wonder Bread from the bread drawer, a jar of Jiff peanut butter from the pantry cupboard, iceberg lettuce from the crisper and a
small jar of mayonnaise from one of the refrigerator door shelves. He proceeded
to prepare his masterpiece, slathering the mayo on one slice of the bread and a
thinner layer of peanut butter on the other - he preferred a higher mayo to PB
ratio - and topped both with a crackling piece of iceberg. He sliced it perfectly on the diagonal, placed it lovingly on a melamine
plate and returned to watch the Dodgers game, leaving the detritus of his snack
strewn across the newly cleaned counter top.
I was pissed
as hell and came into the family room insisting that he clear the counter himself.
He refused and a vigorous argument ensued, which I eventually lost when my
mother intervened and told me to take care of Dad’s mess. I snorted loudly and
sighed heavily as I began the process I had completed just minutes before. I
first grabbed the jar of mayo and angrily screwed on the lid. As I was placing
it in an empty slot on the refrigerator shelf, I noticed written in blue ink
down the side of the jar “Horseradish”.
Just then,
from the family room came a volley of expletives
I didn’t hear repeated until years later in a Quentin Tarantino film. With a
sardonic grin, I joined Dad in the family room with the offending material in
my hand, shaking it in his face and saying, “You should have read the jar!” The
remainder of my tidying brought me a vengeful satisfaction.
Dad and I
didn’t speak of his PB-Lettuce-Horseradish debacle that day, but it did come up
at dinner a few days later. I delighted in telling the tale to the rest of the
family and I thought I had the last laugh, when Dad, without missing a beat,
had the audacity to say that he actually liked it! But I don’t remember him
making one of those awful sandwiches ever again, with or without horseradish.
Years later, when reminded of his unique creation, he declared that I had made
up the entire tale. Knowing winks from the rest of family confirmed my side of
the story.
So, is there
a moral to this tale? There are two, actually: 1.) Always read the labels, or
in some cases, the blue ink, on the jars in your refrigerator, and 2.) Try to keep your condiments in their
original containers to avoid any confusion that moral #1 may create. Oh, and a
third: Do not combine peanut butter, iceberg lettuce and horseradish, no matter
what!
What's the current favorite condiment in my fridge that I may or may not properly
label? Sriracha mayonnaise.
Sriracha is the latest “it” hot sauce and and part of a recent lawsuit by the city of Irwindale, California, where Huy Fong Foods is headquartered. The lawsuit has been settled and Sriracha
will now be flowing freely, whether you purchase the Huy Fong Foods brand, with
its famous rooster logo, or a private label squeeze bottle such as one
available at Trader Joe’s.
My sons have had Sriracha as their go-to hot sauce for years. I've been slow on the uptake. I'm now a true believer.
And how do I make my Sriracha mayonnaise? Read the
recipe below and you’ll find out. Though served with roasted potatoes here, you
can sub this spicy, colorful sauce for any plain, old white mayo on a
sandwich or in a dipping sauce. Just remember to properly label the container in which you store it! And experiment with Sriracha as you would any hot sauce.
Salt
& Vinegar Potato Wedges with Sriracha Mayonnaise
Serves 10 as an appetizer
Margie MacKenzie, adapted from a recipe from
Epicurious
Potatoes
2 lbs Yukon or red potatoes, cut into wedges
1 cup white vinegar
1 TBS kosher salt, or more to taste
Olive
oil
Minced
Chives, optional
Sriracha Mayonnaise
1 cup Mayonnaise
4 TBS Sriracha sauce, or to taste
Potatoes
1.
Place the potatoes wedges and 1 cup of vinegar in a saucepan and cover with water. Bring to a boil and cook until
potatoes are soft, but hold their shape. Remove potatoes from the vinegar/water
mixture and allow to cool on a sheet pan.
2.
Heat oven to 450 degrees. Toss
cooled potatoes lightly with olive oil and more salt. Roast for 20-25 minutes,
tossing the pan occasionally, until the potatoes are crispy and golden on the
outside but still creamy on the inside. Add additional salt to taste, if
desired. Remove and allow to cool to room temperature. Garnish with minced
chives, if desired. Serve with Sriracha Mayonnaise.
1. Combine the mayo and the
Sriracha sauce and refrigerate until the potatoes are ready. Serve with room
temp potatoes. May be made 1 week ahead and kept well sealed in the
refrigerator.
